I Don't Want To Live On The Moon: A Marauder's Tail
by Mr. Cobrah Thunderer
Summary: How do you do, my name is Remus Lupin, and I am proud to present my life story. I am legally required to tell you that I suffer from Lycanthropy. However, I assure you being a Werewolf is not all there is to me. For instance, I love chocolate, listening to jazz records, puns, and reading. I dedicate this to the memories of Romulus, Wormtail, Flower-Child & Prongs, wherever you are.
1. Chapter 1: Origin Story

My Father believed that there are always two sides to a person, the external image that one puts out into the world and the internal truth that one has within. The external image is often simplified and controlled, whereas the internal image is often darker and unpredictable. The two seemingly appear to be polar opposites, but simultaneously share overlap that cause them to be divided and yet...inseparable.

How appropriate, then, that I was born a twin. For approximately eight months, thirteen days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes, and thirteen seconds anyway. My younger brother, Romulus Lupin, entered the world stillborn. Cause of death? A noose in the form of our shared umbilical cord. Somewhat ironic, considering in Roman legend it is my namesake who dies first, and by his own brother no less. I am positive my Mother only picked it because she liked the alliterative connections and my Father, being a Wizard, didn't question it. I often wondered as a child what it would have been like to have a brother.

While I was sorted into Gryffindor, people have often parroted The Sorting Hat and told me that I'm a closeted Ravenclaw with dashes of Hufflepuff, and I tend to agree. I truly had to struggle with vast psychological implications thanks to my early loss! For instance, would we always come to blows like our namesakes; unwittingly reenacting conflicts that didn't concern us? Would we be virtually identical to one another outwardly save for slight differences in attire and massive departures in terms of personality inwardly? Or perhaps we would simply be perfect twins; entirely interchangeable, often forgetting which Lupin brother is which to comedic effect.

That might seem like a strange description of how me and my dead brother would have interacted had he survived, but before you wonder if I'm mad, it is important to note that sitcoms are one of my absolute favorite forms of television. Perhaps they appeal to me because most of the problems the characters face can be brought up and solved in less than thirty minutes. Or perhaps the comfort in knowing that no matter how bad things get for me, I can still sit down on my couch at 7:30, turn on the telly and laugh until I tear up.

I must have watched so many of them with my Mother and Father as a child that I even went about to write some of my own. Rereading some of the scrpits I wrote now, I felt the strong urge to either burn them with fire or submit it to The Restricted Section in the Hogwarts Library to be put alongside forbidden texts such as _The Screaming Book of Screaming_ or _Magick Moste Evile_. You decide for yourself, this is the finale of the episode I wrote that served as my pilot:

" **Those Loopy Lupins!" is filmed in front of a live studio audience, although responses are added when necessary.**

*LUPIN HOUSE, INTERIOR.*

*HOPE IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, IN HER SUNDAY BEST. HOPE IS IMPATIENT.*

Hope: Boys, it's time to go to church!

*REMUS WALKS DOWN THE STAIRS WEARING A ZOOT SUIT AND SANDALS.*

*HE TURNS TO THE CAMERA AND WINKS IN A FLIRTATIOUS YET APPROACHABLE FASHION. MILLIONS OF TEENAGE GIRLS AROUND THE WORLD SQUEE AT ONCE.*

*CANNED APPLAUSE AND CHEERING.*

*HOPE OGLES REMUS IN DISBELIEF.*

Hope: Remus, what on earth are you wearing?!

Remus: First of all, this is my personal Sunday best excuse for an outfit.

*CANNED LAUGHTER.*

Romulus: Second of all, I'm not Remus, he is!

*ROMULUS POINTS TO THE DOOR. REMUS ENTERS, ALSO WEARING A ZOOT SUIT. SAME STAGE DIRECTIONS AS ROMULUS' ENTRANCE.*

Remus: Honestly, woman, and you call yourselves our mother!

*MORE CANNED LAUGHTER. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MAILMAN KNOWS WHAT'S COMING NEXT.*

Hope: I'm sorry boys, can you both please change so we can leave for church?

*BOTH ROMULUS AND REMUS RAISE THEIR ARMS COMEDICALLY AND SHOUT IN UNISON;"

Remus and Romulus (IN PERFECT UNISON): Only joking-I'M Remus/Romulus!

*CROWD IS ROARING NOW, RAISING THEIR ARMS AND REPEATING THE LINE IN UNISON. HOPE'S EYES ROLL TO THE BACK OF HER HEAD IN EXASPERATION, PASSES OUT. AWKWARD SILENCE.*

Romulus: Think we went too far that time?

*PAUSE FOR EFFECT.*

Remus: Nah.

*CANNED LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE, FREEZE FRAME. FADE TO BLACK, ROLL CREDITS.*

Uggggghhhhhhh. How could I produce a script that is so unnatural, so inherently evil? And for that matter, how many drugs must I have done during the 1970's when "Personal Sunday Best" seemed like a hilarious and well thought out punchline? The part where me and Romulus pretend to be one another is decent enough, if only I had originally written it myself! Don't remember exactly where the bit came from, but I can assure you it was MUCH funnier originally than my bastardized version.

I suppose this makes me even more peculiar than I was viewed before, since most Half-Bloods I know choose their magical side and stick with it all the way through. Even to the point where even acknowledging their part-Muggle upbringing becomes a painful embarrassment. It is maddening that so many of my own kind consider Muggles to be ignorant children with nothing to offer the Wizarding world, when one only needs to look at the art they created to see the world as I see it.

Whenever my view of the world turns nihilistic and defeatist, it is not merely magical means that give me comfort, it is the things that Muggles created to inspire everyone else as well. While I don't reach Arthur Weasley (good man from a good family, if you ask me) levels of fascination with Muggles since I was raised by one and grew up around them, I still think we tend to underestimate how clever Muggles really are. It even comes to the point where the idea of a Muggle-Born Witch or Wizard being powerful still raises eyebrows to THIS day, in THIS century.

Ah, if only I could take all of the people in the Wizarding world who believe in maintaining tripe like blood purity or Muggle-baiting and each give them a copy of "Abbey Road," maybe then they would finally see that we Witches and Wizards aren't the only people in the world who can claim to create true beauty. Of course, growing up with one foot in the Muggle world and another in the Wizarding World has proven to me that both of my sides are also capable of great ugliness as well. I have had many insults hurled at me. By strangers, my family, my peers, AND my own government, no less. "Half-Breed." "Freak." "Baby-Killer." "Monster." That last one isn't the one that hurts the most, but it certainly seems to be the most popular among my detractors. "But Remus," you must be asking, "That's horrible! Why do people call you a monster?"

Because I am required by law to tell you that I suffer from Lycanthropy. Also known by Father as "Monster's Disease." You wan't me to say it out loud, air my shame out for all to hear? Fine, here it is: I'm a Werewolf. Happy now? Don't worry, it's not contagious when I'm in human form. I merely turn into a half-human, half-wolf creature of darkness with a thirst for human blood every time the moon is full, that's all.

What's that? You don't want to be me around me or your children? Are you sure? With the Wolfsbane Potion, I haven't properly transformed in years, and I would never, EVER harm a child. I should go where? Well, given the things I've done already, I suppose I was going to hell anyway. Go. It's okay, I understand. I am just a Werewolf, after all.

Nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2: Friday The 13th

**March 13th, 1965.**

At first my memories of that day were hazy, but after a trip in The Pensieve I remember that day I was bitten like it was yesterday. Nothing extraordinary happened until Father returned from his job after two whole days at the office, in an uncharacteristically vengeful mood. Me and Mother were just competing to see who exactly could finish off the last of my carrot cake before the other before the loud slam of the screen door upon the doorway mixed in with dark muttering. Mother and I shared an anxious glance.

I had always thought of my Father as much too genial and far too clever to ever lose his temper up until that day. No matter what type of day he had had at the Ministry up to that point, he always went out of his way to pick me up and give me a big hug, pecking Mother on the cheek and reminding us both how lucky he was as he did so. The man I idolized was still there, but perverted by utmost loathing to the point where one of my two heroes was an ugly brute towering over his loved ones.

Father entered the room cursing the hat rack he had stubbed his toe against and tossing his briefcase onto the counter as if the entire house was against him. He then moved onto the refrigerator in search of his favourite brand of ice cream sandwich only to find none. The refrigerator door was summarily slammed shut and Father rose up shaking his head with disdain and seemingly complained to no one in particular how the ice cream always seemed to run out when he least expected it, oblivious to his confused and scared family.

Mother cleared her throat nervously and spoke up.

"Bad day at work, Lyall dearest?"

Father turned on his heel and glared at Mother, gnashing his teeth as he did so.

"Yes."

He strode over to the table and poured himself some Tomato soup.

"Did the trial go poorly?" 

"Very."

"What happened?"

Father banged his fist on the table and shouted;

"FUCKING FENRIR GREYBACK GOT OFF, THAT'S WHAT!"

Me and Mother both jumped, startled.

"I wasted weeks putting together that case! I could just tell there was something fishy about him, and suggested they at least investigate the possibility that he's responsible but those idiots just took that-that for his savage word! And insisted that I, I apologize to that PIECE OF SHIT they call a human being!"

It was at this point Mother rushed over to me in fear, but Father still didn't notice, continuing his tirade against Fenrir Greyback and his fellow employees at The Ministry.

"It really, really, really fucking pisses me off, how goddamn limp-wristed the Wizengamot is. I work SO HARD, show up early when I can because I love my job, but they don't care! They just don't fucking care! Why listen to the guy who actually knows what he's talking about, tell HIM he's out of order when he recognizes a WEREWOLF for the soulless monster he really is!"

It was at this point I piped up;

"Daddy, what's a Werewolf?"

Father turned around to face me and stated plainly;

"Son, a Werewolf is a monster. They're look human most of the time like you or me at first, but come full moon they turn into a freakish half-human, half-wolf hybrid that'll kill you as soon as look at you. The only comfort I take is that these creatures are soulless, and therefore can't go to heaven like you or I when they die. We should really round up the whole rotten lot of them in Azkaban and throw away the key so they'll all die out and we can be rid of their kind forever."

Mother paled at this.

"Lyall!" She said, appalled. "You shouldn't be saying things like this in front of Remus. He's sensitive, you could give him nightmares!"

Father rolled his eyes in exasperation at this suggestion.

"Hope, you can't shelter the boy forever. He needs to know that there are real monsters in the world, so he can be ready. So he knows who he should associate with when he goes off to Hogwarts and beyond. You see a Werewolf walking up to me, boy, scream bloody murder and I'll be right there to finish him off for you. No one, and I mean NO ONE, threatens my little boy. Got that?"

I nodded my head vigorously to show I understood. All of the sudden, a weird twitch crossed his face and he put his hands over his head. Mother cautiously snuck up by his side.

"I saw...pictures of the bodies. Two Muggle kids were in a playground, jumping jacks or something, and then HE came, convinced them to go into the forest. Then…"

Father shuddered horribly as if trying to shake off his bad memory.

"He…"played" with them before they died. The girl was beheaded and the boy bled out because he was tortured so badly. Then...then he ate parts of them. Those kids had nothing to do with him, he did it just because it was easy. And then he walked into court and acted like he was a Muggle, like he was horrified to hear about it. And they let him off."

Mother's grip on Father's shoulder grew even tighter.

"I'm so sorry you had to grow through that. Couldn't have been easy."

Father tensed, then relaxed.

"Thanks, Hope. I-I'm sorry about being such a weenie earlier. It's not you or Remus' fault, what's happening at work. Just really scares me to see good people do nothing, y'know? Can you forgive me?"

Mother nodded. I mimicked her and clutched Father shoulder as well. He smiled.

"I really am the luckiest man in the world. Now, who wants to go out for some apology ice cream?"

Good save. Ice cream is amazing.


	3. Chapter 3: Bitten

**Bitten**

Even though I know that it won't make any difference, I still try to wake my younger self whenever I'm in The Pensieve. Even though no one can hear or see me, I always try to rouse little Remus by shaking him by the shoulders or yelling into his ear to get up, call our Mom or Dad so they can summon aid in the form of angry villagers bearing pitchforks or Aurors. But my hands simply move through any object I touch as though it were made of mist, and I might as well be whispering for all the impact it leaves. The best I can do is embrace myself, whisper into my ear to be brave, and stand back to watch the show.

Remus stirs in his rest, murmuring something inaudible. This is the last time he'll sleep well for a while. Finally, he admits to himself that he's in for a restless night and rises, getting a glass of water for himself, seeing his Mother in a similar state of restlessness, preparing herself some tea to lull herself to sleep. The day is March 18th, 1960 according to the calendar on his parent's refrigerator. They chat for a bit, before she carries him up to his bed and tucks him in tightly.

He asks if our Father is doing any better. The outburst five days ago is still weighing on his mind. My Mother pauses and responds that he is better than before, that he feels so bad about losing his cool he has gone out of his way to be nicer to people at work and at home. She then reminds Remus that everyone, no matter how good they are, is capable of making mistakes. It is what you do after a mistake is made that really determines who a person is, after all. He asks whether there are any monsters in the closet (purely to humor her, of cours), she says they don't live in this house anymore because they couldn't afford the rent.

Remus mentions that he loves his parents, and she concurs in interest. They embrace, the full moon casting a shiny light through his neat bedroom. My Mother leaves Remus' room yawning hugely, stopping only to shut the door and send an adoring smile back at her boy. He falls asleep at last, reassured at last. Darkness surrounds my view as my younger self shuts his eyes. He is content.

It doesn't last.

All of the sudden light surrounds the Pensieve once more as my younger self's eyes are shocked open by the sensation shooting straight from his leg. A tall, hairy, muscular figure is standing over Remus, biting his left leg through his pyjamas. The young boy screams bloody murder and scrambles to pull his leg out from The Monster's jaws, only succeeding in tearing more flesh away from his leg.

In the twelve seconds since he first heard his son scream, my Father is already there, wand at the ready.

"STUPEFY!"

The Monster is sent rocketing, towing Remus' leg along with it in his jaws. They crash against the wall, and Remus' leg is twisted at a funny angle.

*CRACK*

Stunning spells aren't enough to down a Werewolf. The Monster finally lets go of Remus' leg and is up at once, advancing on Father. It is then I get a good look at what my attacker looks like. Huge and muscular, bone-white fur with razor-sharp teeth protruding from a inverted snout, cruel, bloodshot black eyes, hunched over with powerful hind legs, with copious amounts of drool tinged with blood pouring out of his jowls. The Monster is everything Father said he would be, and so much more.

Charging through Father's flurry of spells, The Monster passes through my ghostly form to pin Father against the wall, knocking him silly. Gritting my teeth against the pain, and ignoring every impulse telling him to run, my younger doppelganger manages to hobble over to a glass ball on my windowsill and hurl it at The Monster, causing it to shatter against the back of his skull at the impact. Immediately The Monster turns around, dropping my Father as he does, snarling and spitting.

Luckily, I had the good sense to close my eyes against the oncoming blow so my sight remained intact, but I am still sent to the ground by The Monster's backhand, now sporting three scars on my face to match my leg's. Watching from the future, I now see my Father slumped on the ground trying to regain his breath and the blood trailing from The Monster's nails at the exact point they came into contact with my flesh.

For one single, terrifying moment I am eye-to-eye with The Monster as he stands between my Father and my younger form. Now he is even more scary that he is hurt, now has people that he actively wishes harm upon. In that moment, he lets out a horrifying shriek of fury that drowns out any sound in the room. In that moment, I see the horrible creature everyone must see when they discover what I am, what happens when I lose control.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T!"

And then I see the ultimate proof that we Wizards are far too hard on Muggles for old rivalries: my sweet old Mother, who didn't have a drop of Magical Blood in her veins whatsoever, standing up to one of the most fearsome creatures in all of The Wizarding World, carrying a double-barrelled shotgun.

"NOT-"

*T'CHIK-CLACK*

*BOOM!"

"-MY-"

*T'CHIK-CLACK*

*BOOM!"

"FAMILY!"

The Monster's kneecaps were the first to go, then his right shoulder, and then part of his ribcage. It howled in pain, claws tearing into the floorboards. Should have known better than to pick a fight with Hope Lupin, the best shot in town. My Father finally comes to, motions for my Mother to drag my younger self out of the way, and thrusts his wand straight at The Monster, bellowing the most powerful spell in his arsenal straight at The Monster.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The Monster is blasted out of the house taking my windowsill with it, via the spectre of a snarling black panther (Or in this case would it be a silver panther? Yeesh, James was right, there is such a thing as being TOO specific) hitting it in the chest. In what appears to be a reflection in the Corporeal Patronus I see the silhouette of my Mother in her wedding gown, leaning in for a kiss.

After propping me against the wall, my Mother rushes to my Father's side, reloading her shotgun and firing along with him at the whimpering fiend into the night before three figures grab him and disappear into the night. Cursing their luck, Father rushes off to the fireplace and my Mother lifts my younger self up, trying to soothe me through my shrieking as I feel the wounds that were inflicted on me burn maddeningly.

The fireplace is green now thanks to Floo Powder, Father pockets some Potion ingredients, grabs my Mother by the arm and hurriedly proclaims;

"St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries, and step on it!"

Through The Pensieve, I am suddenly stretched along with my family in the emerald blaze into the sterile white, brilliantly lit waiting Reception Room next to a series of fireplaces. Taking a moment to recover from my sudden change of venue, My Father and Mother are almost immediately assisted by a kind-looking Healer, and I am delivered to the operating room. Struggling against the restraints, my younger self is still sobbing until the Healer forces a Sleeping Draught down my throat and everything darkens again.

When my younger self awakes again, I dimly open my eyes acknowledge The Healer, (whose nametag says is named Poppy Pomfrey) sitting my parents down and murmuring in hushed tones to my parents so as not to disturb me or let anyone else in the ward hear her.

"We managed to seal his wounds with silver and aconite just in time. However… it wasn't enough, there's no cure for what he has. I'm afraid your son has been infected with Lycanthropy. I'm so sorry."

It is then my older self is sent back through The Pensieve to the present as if being lifted by a puppetmaster, seeing my Father blanche and grip his chair as though hanging for dear life then my Mother covering her hands in front of her mouth. Albus Dumbledore is usually in his study reading a book or pacing when I arise from the waters.

"Ah, there you are. Find anything illuminating in the past, Remus?" He'll ask, unperturbed by the grown man arising from his basin.

"Very little I haven't had nightmares about before, or learned later from my parents," I'll reply. "But thanks for the use of The Pensieve anyway. Have a lot on my mind, these days."

"It is no problem, one often has to look behind oneself to know where they are going, after all. Give my best to Kingsley next time you see him, will you?"

"You bet, Albus. Good night."


End file.
